


Hope A Little Less, Romantics

by orphan_account



Series: Hope A Little Less [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Cutting, Heavy Angst, M/M, Self-Harm, i don't know how to tag honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 14:03:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11381727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Stoically ignoring your soulmate's pestering and invasive questions is one thing. But Keith can't just sit back and watch the dark, painful marks fill up his arm. Something must be seriously wrong with Lance. Though, one exception to his no-communication rule turns into two, and then maybe three or four or...a lot. It's hard not to fall in love with the stupid guy, constantly sending his blue-inked, over-sharing messages via soulmate's link. He knew he'd fall eventually. He knew it'd be a slow, painful fall. He just wasn't expecting it to be so soon.Or: A really angsty soulmate au that nobody asked for.





	Hope A Little Less, Romantics

**Author's Note:**

> I'm warning you now, if you've read or are reading any of my other fics, this one is going to be a bit different. First of all, because it's a lot more serious, as you could probably tell given the fact that I tagged it with explicit self harm. I really don't know what I'm going to do with this; whether it will have a happy ending or any ending at all. I also won't update too frequently, because it's a bit, well, heavy to write. 
> 
> I don't know if I'm ever going to finish this, I just thought I'd share the first piece. 
> 
> Enjoy? I guess? Remember to keep in mind the tags, there will be explicit self harming throughout the course of this fic. A lot of it. Through personal experience, I know that a lot of people in this tag might be looking to self-trigger or hurt themselves. So if that's why you're here, please stay strong, and though I'm not telling you to turn away from this fic, maybe shoot me a message and we can talk about it? I care about my readers, and if you're hurting, I'd be more than happy to talk to you about it. 
> 
> Okay, with that out of the way, here it is, and enjoy the first chapter, I guess.
> 
> EDIT: so this fic is really triggering for me to write and I haven't been feeling it at all. I'm closing it off as discontinued, or just a oneshot/drabble. I might write more in the future but if I do I will most likely just make a series of Oneshots with this concept?

Keith stared down at his arm as a red line appeared, just below his inner elbow. It looked tender and ragged. He grabbed the closest writing utensil he could find, a red pen. He'd never spoken to his soulmate, but this was more than he had the self control to ignore. 

 

_ Hey, stop that.  _

 

There was a second line appearing, but it stopped halfway through, and he could see as it thickened and flicked outwards, longer than the previous and thinning out towards the end.  

Then blue ink appeared next to it.  _ Since when do you care?  _ He stared down at the words, cringing with guilt. 

 

His soulmate had tried to communicate with him on many occasions, ever since they were kids. Supposedly, his name was Lance. They were roughly the same age, his favorite color was blue. He knew everything, from the names of his cousins to his favorite brand of shampoo. (Which smelled quite nice. Not that he'd checked it out or anything.)

 

Keith had never responded to the plethora of Lance facts he received. The idea of a soulmate terrified him. He couldn't fathom trying to get to know this guy. He just wanted things to take their course, without interfering. 

 

He wanted to avoid meeting this perfect person at all costs. 

 

Three more lines, all in quick succession. 

 

_ I'm sorry.  _ He scribbled, desperately.  _ Please don't.  _ He felt his eyes welling up. Even if he didn't want to know his soulmate, he couldn't bear to just sit back and watch as the man hurt himself. No one in their right mind could ignore that. 

 

_ Why don't you ever talk to me  _

 

A confrontation that Keith struggled with. He bit his lip, staring down at the quickly blotting ink. Lance must have moved his finger over it, because it blurred slightly, letters streaking together. He closed his eyes for a moment trying to collect his thoughts. His arm itched from the writing and the cutting. 

 

What was he supposed to say? That he was scared? That he didn't really know, but the idea of a soulmate made him feel nauseous and unable to think clearly? He felt light-headed, unsure. 

 

_ I don't know.  _ Was all he wrote, the scrawl so scratchy and tight-handed that it was barely legible. 

 

_ Fuck.  _ Was the only response he got. The marks, getting thinner as they scarred on his soulmates skin, increased in number. 

 

He switched his pen to his left hand, glad to be ambidextrous when his left wrist was already over crowded, and wrote neatly. 

 

_ At least move to somewhere more discreet.  _ He searched his desk for something sharp. Something that could work. He was, unfortunately, a resourceful person. When the burning of new marks being transferred was felt on his inner thigh this time, he wriggled out of his jeans and joined in the process. 

 

The other paused for a moment. Then a small question mark beside where he'd sliced, dotted with a small circle as opposed to a jab with the pen. 

 

He pressed down again, dragging the pair of convenient scissors down next to the first one. It was an oddly freeing sensation, and he felt his lips twitch upward in a painful half smile. Lance continued with what he was doing, sticking to the left thigh while Keith did the right. 

 

_ I'm going to stop now. You should too. _ Lance wrote, and he grabbed his pen in his right hand, writing underneath it. 

 

_ Okay.  _

 

His first real conversation with his soulmate. So this is how it was going to be. He dropped the scissors and kicked them under his bed, sighing and crawling under the covers, wrist prickling and thighs sticking together from blood. 

 

* * *

 

He woke up feeling dead tired, and gross. He heaved himself out of bed and blinked heavy eyelids, grabbing his pen from where it was left on the floor, proof of the night before. The writing on his arms was still evident, but there seemed to still be room on his right arm. 

 

_ Feeling any better?  _ He wrote, careful to keep his messy handwriting legible. He couldn't be sure why he did it. He just supposed that the whole situation that had passed had been a bit of a bonding moment for both of them. 

 

The response came nearly ten minutes later.  _ I hate you. Don't talk to me.  _ Keith blinked down at his arm. He got up, carefully walking towards the bathroom and trying not to wake his foster parents. He rubbed his eyes, yawning and pressing his arms under the sink, rubbing relentlessly at the ink.

 

Lance's words wouldn't come off until he washed it off on his end, but removing at least one half of the conversation made him feel a bit better. He then got to work on his legs, trying his best to clean up the bloody mess between his upper thighs. The phantom of Lance's cuts were still there, haunting him, but his own words were red smears at this point, his cuts merely scabs. 

 

The injuries rubbed together painfully as he walked, but he tried his best to pay them no heed. 

 

_ Why aren't you answering me ???? _ The angry words on his arm, replacing the marks he'd just wiped off, surprised him. 

 

_ You told me not to.  _

 

_ It's like you don't even care !  _

 

Keith felt guilt gnaw in his gut, but he simply wiped off his latest response, pulling a sweater over his head so he wouldn't have to see the marks. It didn't stop the undeniable itching of new words, though. He didn't bother to read what Lance had said before he pulled up his right sleeve, the one empty of words, and scratched out angrily;

_ Leave me alone.  _

 

He pulled the sleeve back down, pretending not to notice when the familiar sting of a new mark stopped. 

 

He took a deep breath, staring himself down in the mirror and composing himself, before proceeding with his day. His skin started tingling no more than ten minutes later, as if Lance were washing off his marks. 

 

Keith ripped his sweater sleeve up, but the things Lance had told him earlier had been washed into a blue smear across his arm. He felt annoyed, though it was his own fault for not reading them.  

 

_ We were meant to be perfect.  _ He wrote, sticking to his signature red pen. Too frustrated to deal with angst with this person he barely knew. This person who made him hate himself and snapped at him and who he was going to fall in love with someday.

 

_ They told us we were supposed to be.  _ Was the response, written in cursive this time. A small star doodle sparkled next to it. He sucked in a breath, responding in neat handwriting. 

 

_ Why aren't you the person I need?  _

 

Another response, still equally poetic and heartfelt. 

 

_ Do you think you know that yet?  _

 

Keith bit his lip, closing his eyes for a moment.  _ This isn't healthy.  _

 

Lance's handwriting was really pretty. The other night it hadn't been, but that was kind of to be expected. 

 

_ I think I want to love you. I don't, yet. But I want to, someday. I think that's healthy.  _

 

Keith felt shame bubbling up inside of him as he wrote back.  _ I don't want to love anyone. It's terrifying.  _ He admitted, staring down as his response came, the color pooling on his skin calming him, somehow. 

 

_ I scare you?  _

 

_ More than anything else.  _

 

That's when his soulmate started drawing. He wasn't an artist by any means, but his basic little doodle expressed...a lot. A tiny cactus, a frown apparent in its center. The prickles on the outside were emphasized and exaggerated, and Keith found himself staring at it. 

 

It looked as though Lance had moved to wash it off, but Keith grabbed his own pen and traced the lines.  _ Don't.  _ Was all he wrote, hoping Lance would realize how important this was. 

 

He wasn't sure white why, but the little sketch was important to him. It expressed more than his soulmate could've with mere writing, Keith was sure.  

 

_ What's your name, soulmate?  _ The question alarmed him, as reasonable as it was. Keith stared down at the words, before writing slowly. 

 

_ Keith. Your soulmate’s name is Keith.  _

 

* * *

 

Keith found himself doodling and sketching in his notebook all day. The thought of talking with Lance any more was intimidating, though he knew he was going to try. 

 

But first, he was going to learn to draw. To sketch on his skin and project it onto Lance. It felt important. If he was a cactus, spearing anyone who approached and weeping for loneliness anyways, then what would Lance be? 

 

He'd draw it for Lance when he figured it out. Someday. Because he  _ would  _ figure it out, as much as it scared him. 

 

He found himself hyper aware of the people around him in classes, giggling and scribbling on their arms. Raised eyebrows across the classroom. 

 

Teachers hated it, kids communicating with their soulmates during class, but there wasn't much they could do. Keith sighed, staring at the purple smears from overlapping ink, conversations washed away as if they were nothing. 

 

He pressed his fingers to his temples, taking one deep breath after another. Acknowledging that he'd been freaking out only made it worse though, and his even breathing didn't stop his rushing thoughts. 

 

School was one long, anxiety filled experience. Every single exhausting day. He couldn't blame Lance for marring his skin, when life like this was considered privileged at worst. 

 

He pressed his pen down a bit too hard, nearly breaking the skin with his forcefulness. 

 

_ Why do you fall in love with someone like me?  _ He scrawled, anger burning through him. Why? Why does he even have a soulmate in the first place? 

 

Someone who undoubtedly deserves better than the piece of shit he was dealt out at birth. So many people say they're blessed, the ability to know their soulmates while growing up. To find them easier, to know them easier. It's a curse, really. 

 

To be burdened with so heavy a responsibility, given your entire life to mess it up. He supposed other people didn't have to worry about that. 

 

_ Why doesn't everyone?  _ The tingle on his wrist reminded him of Lance's existence, of the question he'd asked. He stared down at it, tears brimming in his eyes. He pushed his head into his pillow, not caring as it grew damp and uncomfortable beneath his shaking face. 

 

He ended up falling asleep like that, breathing laborious and covered in snot and tears, ugly red blotches spread across his face. It  _ hurt.  _ Knowing that  _ someone  _ managed to love his pathetic ass. Knowing that someone would write to him someday, and never get a response. Because he was a jerk, or dead, or both. 

 

Maybe he'd tell Lance. Maybe he wouldn't. He thought he'd let his soulmate know before he did something...dangerous. Today, at least. But people change so fast, he wasn't going to make promises. Who knows, his future self might not be one to stay true to his word. 

 

People change. But Keith couldn't picture himself ever being someone who'd make an ideal soulmate. Even if he did, perhaps that wasn't truly him anymore. Was it?

 

* * *

 

When he woke up, he noticed dark scratches making their way up his abdomen and chest. Lance had been cutting the night before. Deeper than last time, apparently. He didn't bother to question Lance, throwing on a shirt to cover the marks and going back to his routine of ignoring whatever marks his soulmate made. 

 

The words Lance had spoken the night before had been washed off, too. Keith scrubbed his skin raw removing his own words. Verbal conversations disappear the moment you finish speaking, yet somehow washing off these talks felt more permanent. More  _ intentional.  _ As if taking the words off his flesh meant that they'd never happened at all. 

 

He almost wished they hadn't. 

 

_ Where do you live? Like, give me your country or something at least.  _

 

_ No. _

 

_ Fuck you. I live in Cuba. Please?  _

 

He glared at the markings on his arm. Cuba. That was...far. Well, farther than he was probably going to ever go. 

  
_ Texas.  _ Was all he wrote, though he was almost pissed off at himself for telling him. Then, he took his pen and re-outlined the little faded cactus, still sadly watching him from his arm. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you made it all the way to the end of this chapter, perhaps shoot me some kudos or a comment? It only takes a second, and I'm a narcissist who needs the validation. Thanks.


End file.
